


Wings

by cabooseachievables



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, F/F, Gen, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8210134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabooseachievables/pseuds/cabooseachievables
Summary: Explore the organization of Overwatch, a group made up entirely of mutants from around the globe. The world looks down on them— but to other mutants, they are heroes. As terrorist attacks on mutant populations begin to escalate it is learned that Talon, an anti-mutant organization that wants every mutant on earth dead, is behind it all. Fareeha Amari joins Overwatch to enact justice and carry on her mother’s legacy.X-Men(ish) AU. The heroes are all mutants with unique superpowers. Pharah is gay for Mercy and Tracer is gay for Widowmaker. Soldier: 76 is everyone’s dad.





	1. Downpour

**15 YEARS AGO**

 

            “I’m… sorry, Fareeha. Your mother is dead.”

            The voice of Jack Morrison was a solemn one, taking a lower octave than it normally would. One of his hands ran through the fading blond hair upon his head as he didn’t dare look the young girl in the eyes. As a soldier, he’d always been a brave man— but having to tell a teenager that her mother was killed proved to be more difficult than he’d thought. Fareeha had no words in exchange for him, the tears that she was choking back creating only muffled noises. Her fists clenched by her sides as waves of emotions flooded into her mind. Was she hurt or betrayed? Angered? Devastated?

            Jack Morrison couldn’t tell.

            He placed a hand on her tensed shoulder, immediately feeling it slump as the girl released tears that couldn’t be held back any longer. No child should lose their parents. Not like this. But as Commander of Overwatch, he knew better than anyone that life has never been fair. It never will be.

            Stepping away to make his exit, Jack gave the girl one last look. Her palms covered her eyes as her body shook and trembled, weeping for the loss of her valiant mother.

            He shut the heavy apartment door behind him, leaving Fareeha Amari and her wails in the past.

 

**PRESENT DAY**

 

            “We are currently following the breaking news story of a bombing in King’s Row. Reports coming in lead us to believe that this was a hate crime against the community’s large mutant population, but as of now there is no way to substantiate these claims…”

            The steady voice of a female news anchor echoed around Fareeha Amari’s apartment, nearly drowned out by the sound of rain tapping glass windows. The television was typically only on as background noise for the Egyptian, but the alarming amount of attacks on mutants always drew her attention. She took a seat on her now worn out couch, eating a small lunch that she’d prepared herself.

            It’s easy to face the facts: there’s been an ongoing conflict with mutants and the rest of society for quite a few decades now. Despite the fact that mutants are simply born with a genetic mutation and are otherwise normal human beings, people fear them. People hate them. They’re brutally attacked for no reasons other than the fact that they were born a _mutant_. They stand out in crowds while being labeled as freaks of nature. Some of them, however, are fortunate enough to be born with a normal appearance. No bright green skin or abnormal amounts of body parts. They’re able to blend in and assimilate into society with slim chances of being detected. Fareeha is one of those people.

            It’s an ongoing war between mutants and the world. It is fear that drives these people into violence and loathing. Some trust mutants and some don’t. Groups upon groups fight for different kinds of change; the Anti-Mutant Society pushes for laws around the world to ban mutants from public locations. The Mutant Ally Organization argues for the rights of mutant citizens.

            And then there’s Overwatch.

            Founded by respected mutant soldier Jack Morrison, it is an organization made up entirely of mutants who want to make a difference no matter what the cost is. Violence is a common route, but peacekeeping measures aren’t exactly rare for them either. Quite a large amount of people despise them, but to mutants they are heroes. They are saviors who are going to create a better world.

            A world that will be safe from attacks like these.

            “The casualty number has officially gone up to approximately one thousand. We are unsure of the exact number, but this is what we have been told,” the news anchor stated, gravely reading from a screen in front of her.

            Fareeha swallowed some of her food as her heart sank. This is the worst attack they’d seen in a long time. Things have only been escalating for them in the recent years. Terrorist attacks became bolder on cities with major mutant populations. It won’t be long before Overwatch finds a way to retaliate— but at what cost? Will a civil war begin? She feared the possible outcomes, but decided to place her faith in Overwatch. She always did. It had been her dream to join it ever since childhood, but after the death of her mother Fareeha strayed away from it. Never again did she consider it.

            “People are raising questions now whether these crimes are all being committed by the same people,” a male voice began, his tone clearly less concerned than the woman’s. “Could this be a new terrorist group rising to power? We’re going to be speaking to an expert soon about the—”

            With a click, Fareeha turned off the TV. She had no time to bother listening to an anti-mutant politician speak about the attacks. It would only end up angering her. There was nothing now but the sound of rain and what seemed to be footsteps out in the hall. Heavy footsteps, she noted, until they abruptly stopped.

            There was a knock on the door.

            “Who is it?” Fareeha called out, becoming defensive almost immediately. She hadn’t been expecting any visitors, and if it was anyone she knew they would have notified her beforehand. There was no verbal response, but the silhouettes of two feet were still visible through the crack under the door. “I said, who is it?” She repeated, this time more stern and demanding. A moment passed by of silence until a low, rough and eerily familiar voice came from the other end.

            “Just open the door, Amari.”

            She strode to the door and swung it open, finding herself face to face with a man that she never thought she’d see again. What was once blond hair was now fading to grey and hints of wrinkles occupied his forehead, but his eyes were still the same. A worn out leather jacket clung to his body, fresh raindrops cascading down the material and a large number 76 written in red. Fareeha couldn’t bring herself to say anything, her mind flashing back to the dreadful day that changed her life fifteen years ago. It was the last time she’d ever seen the face of Jack Morrison.

            “Sorry to interrupt your day,” he started, not sounding the least bit remorseful, “but you’re going to have to come with me.” His eyes showed little to no emotion as he spoke, staring her down in a way that reminded her of her mother.

            “Nice to see you too, Jack.” Sarcasm dripped off of her words. Her fingers fiddled subconsciously with the doorknob. “What are you talking about? Do you really expect me to just leave because you’ve told me to?”

            A smirk formed on his face. It brought back memories of many years ago; it reminded her of times when he’d visit, another man always tagging along named Gabriel. Gabriel would make remarks during dinner that her mother would yell at him for; Jack always seemed to find it amusing, a smirk plastered on his face until Ana turned her attention to him and his own attitude. Arguments would almost always ensue, but Fareeha’s younger self always enjoyed watching them from the living room. It was the closest thing to a family she had.

            “Not if you’re anything like your mother, no. But I expect you to make the right decision,” Jack said, the smirk fading over the span of his words. It was no longer the same smile as it was twenty years ago. He turned and started his way down the vacant hallway, but continued to speak. “If you stay, Talon will kill you. If you follow me, we head to Overwatch.”

            That was the last thing he had to say, leaving with a quick pace.

            It took a moment, but Fareeha knew what she had to do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            The heavy rain was pouring outside, creating puddles on the sidewalk and along the vacant streets. Grey skies made for a gloomy atmosphere, but Jack Morrison was now immune to it. He approached a nearby running car and opened one of the back car doors, sliding into the seat with a squeak from his boots. A stifled giggle from the front seat made him frown. It wasn’t long until a figure came around the other side cautiously. Fareeha opened the door and seated herself, giving Jack a serious look.

            “Tell me everything, Jack,” she demanded, shutting the door with a _thud_. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two people in the front of the car. “If I am really coming with you, tell me what’s going on. Who is Talon?”

            “Oi, you drag her out here and you didn’t even tell ‘er who Talon is?” A high-pitched voice from the passenger seat chimed in, the girl with wild brown hair turning around to face them. Goggles donned her face and freckles were scattered throughout her cheeks, and somehow none of it was surprising. “Don’t you worry, love, I’ll fill you in!”

            “That won’t be necessary, Lena. I’m sure Jack has it under control,” a grizzly voice added from the driver’s seat. It belonged to… a quite oversized gorilla? He was squeezed into the seat, scrunched up with his head and shoulders pressed against the roof of the car. It was surely uncomfortable, but Fareeha decided not to question any of these things. There were too many questions to handle in one sitting.

            Clearing his throat, Jack brought Fareeha’s attention back to him. He didn’t look at her, instead keeping his eyes glued to the world outside of the vehicle as they started to move. “Talon,” he hesitated, crossing his arms, “is an organization seeking to take the lives of every mutant on earth. They’ve been the force behind all of the recent attacks within the past ten years, and they’re only getting stronger. Overwatch is doing their best to put an end to them.”

            “But we have no bloody clue how to do it!” Lena exclaimed. “Right, Winston?”

            “Yet. Yet, Lena,” Winston sighed, stopping the car for a red light. “We’ll find a way.”

            Fareeha said nothing, processing every bit of information being thrown at her. Those news reports and stories about the most recent attack— the bombing in King’s Row— it was done by Talon? A violent group of anti-mutant supporters? How _dare_ they? Who could be cruel enough to take so many lives like that? How long is it going to take for Overwatch to finally take them down? Her jaw clenched in distress and various thoughts, drowning out whatever else Winston and Lena were saying to each other. She glanced over at Jack who was still staring out at the distance.

            “Why did you come and get me?” She questioned, and the two agents in the front immediately fell silent. Jack, for the first time, looked at her for only a moment.

            “Because you’re a mutant, and this area has an increasing population of them. They might attack here soon,” he explained, once again turning to face away from her and her questions.

            “But why save me specifically?” Fareeha pushed again, desiring answers to all of the questions burning in her mind. Yet, despite all of her efforts, it seemed that the more answers she received the more she needed to know.

            He sighed, releasing something from the depths of his chest that must have been there for years:

            “Because your mother would have wanted me to.”


	2. Heat

                The car slowly came to a stop in front of an enormous building that resembled an ordinary business complex. It was Tracer who stepped out of the vehicle first, nearly leaping out, stretching as if she’d just been on a plane for eight hours. She said something about Winston’s own slow pace, generating some bickering between the two. Winston struggled to squeeze himself out from his seat and nearly broke off the obstacle of a door, much to Lena’s amusement. Fareeha and Jack got out silently, just as the rest of the car ride had been. There wasn’t much else to say.

                Winston took leadership and ushered them inside, drawing attention from a few others who were making their way through the building. The interior was quite modern with large glass windows that spanned the walls; had it been a sunny day the bright rays would have illuminated the rooms, but only the gloom of grey skies came through. It seemed as if they were in some kind of lobby, just a simple entrance room to make a substantial first impression. Balconies from the upper level allowed people to observe those below them. A large man down the corridor strolled towards another room, his entire body seemingly comprised of steel. Distantly, Fareeha could hear him shouting as he charged through a doorway. Above, two men sat beside each other in meditation stances. Despite the fact that one was seated on the floor, the other floated mid-air, eyes shut in tranquility.

                “This,” Winston started, gesturing around them, “is Gibraltar. Or in other words, Overwatch Headquarters.” They ascended a long staircase and down a brightly lit hallway, allowing Fareeha more time to note her surroundings. The amount of mutants here was astounding— never before had she seen so many in one place. Her mother once walked through these halls and didn’t have to hide. None of them have to hide here. They don’t have to walk around in fear. They can be free. “Its taken a very long time to get to this point. I remember when we used to be in an old warehouse!” He laughed to himself, shaking his head at the memory.

                Finally, he brought them to an exceptionally large room full of TV monitors. Almost all of them displayed reports of the latest Talon bombing on King’s Row and its devastation on mutants. Other screens showed previous reports of attacks and their large, bold headlines, all reciting the same destruction of their societies and people.

                _MUTANT BOMBINGS: A GOOD OR BAD THING?_

                _DEATH TOLL RISES IN RECENT TERRORIST ATTACK_

_POLL SHOWS THAT 46% OF PEOPLE ARE CONCERNED ABOUT RECENT BOMBINGS_

Headlines continued to flash by on the screens, providing light for an otherwise dim room. Jack and Lena were silent, but their eyes followed the many words that appeared. Winston took a seat on a giant tire and exhaled deeply as he placed glasses on the bridge of his nose. Death filled the screens, dragging Fareeha’s heart into the pit of her stomach. Something needs to be done.

                Someone needs to do it.

                “I want to fight with you,” Fareeha said, abruptly turning to face Jack. If he was startled by the comment, he didn’t show it. Lena, however, lit up behind him. “With Overwatch. I don’t want to sit around anymore and continue to watch terrible things happen to innocent people.”

                “Absolutely not.” Jack frowned, crossing his arms in a stern fatherly manner. “I brought you out here to save your life and you want to jump into the battlefield? No.”

                In the background, Lena rolled her eyes at his response. Fareeha stepped forward, meeting Jack’s eyes so he wouldn’t ignore her. It was the stubborn side that she received from her mother, something that always managed to come in handy. “I can handle it, Jack. You don’t know anything about me or what I can do. At least give me a chance.”

                A moment went by of silence, and Fareeha nearly worried that she’d stepped too far. It wasn’t until Jack glanced at Winston and then back to her that he reluctantly nodded. “Fine,” he said, generating a cheer from the Brit behind him, “but you’ll need to do an evaluation first. If I don’t approve, you’re not fighting.”

                It was clear that an argument was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. She stepped back, feeling accomplished with herself. “Understood.”

                Jack ordered Lena to take her to one of the training rooms and get her prepared for an evaluation. They hurried out of the room and before the heavy door had a chance to fully close, Fareeha overheard Winston whisper to the soldier.

                “She really is just like her mother.”

 

* * *

 

 

                Surprisingly, the training room was completely bare. Lena didn’t seem fazed by it, simply ushering Fareeha inside and giving her a good-natured thumbs up as support. The lights above were distractingly bright, but she’d never been more concentrated in her entire life. A vast window high up on one of the walls was no doubt for spectators to monitor the floor; one of them would be Jack Morrison, waiting to criticize or approve of her fighting skills. This is the day her life changes.

                An eerie, high pitched noise echoed around the room as a speaker system was being figured out. It only took a second before Jack’s low voice came through with: “Your opponents are being sent in.”

                Opponents? The notion was hardly shocking, but Fareeha had doubt if only briefly. Fighting against established Overwatch agents? She’d been trained in combat skills before, but would she really be on par with her opponents?

                The door opened and one of two individuals entered, full of energy and optimism. A young man, his hair tied back in handsome dreadlocks like she’d never seen before, ran inside with a stereo playing at full volume. A bright smile was plastered on his face, head bobbing to the beat of the music. They exchanged a polite wave, despite Fareeha’s confusion. He lowered the sound slowly, turning around as the door opened once more. “Let’s welcome the star we’ve all been waiting for...” the boy shouted, mimicking the tone of an announcer. “…The _beautiful_ Hana Song!”

                A girl entered the room, blowing kisses at an imaginary audience and waving to nonexistent fans. They were both quite short, and actually looked to be many years younger than Fareeha. Hana threw a punch at the air as she exclaimed, “Thanks, Lucio! Oh, and thanks to all of my fans. I’m here to win!” The boy applauded in response.

                Fareeha had no words. _Kids, Jack? These are my opponents?_ It was almost unbelievable that these two were actually Overwatch agents. They laughed together at their own silly antics, appearing to forget all about the fact that a battle was about to ensue. It wasn’t until the voice of Jack boomed over the speaker system telling them to focus that they calmed down. The pair straightened out, eyeballing Fareeha and establishing first impressions.

                The girl gasped, eyes widening as she pointed eagerly. “Woah, those are _sick_!”

                She continued to stare and Fareeha looked around, down at her training suit, at her shoes, still not quite sure what the statement was about. Lucio nudged Hana with his elbow, gesturing to the Egyptian’s confusion. “Oh, haha! Riiiight. She doesn’t know. But—”

                “The training will commence once the automated countdown is complete,” a female robotic voice announced, startling all three of them. “Please begin to prepare.”

                Both agents shared a glance, nodding confidently at each other as they spread out in the training room. Decreasing numbers filled the room at a steady pace.

**10.**

**9.**

_Focus, Fareeha. They’re kids, but they surely won’t be easy to fight._

**8.**

**7.**

_Lucio is on the left._

**6.**

**5.**

_Hana is on the right._

**4.**

**3.**

_Be natural._

**2.**

_Breathe._

**1.**

                At the sound of the alarm, Fareeha released a part of herself that she’d hidden for years. The part of herself that society has always hated. The part of herself that she learned to love most. Waves of heat erupted in an instant around the room, great flames emerging from her upper back in the form of broad wings. With a spin of her body and the roar of wind, they propelled her in the air, carrying her as if she was weightless. The flames did nothing but strive behind her, the faint smell of smoke crowding her senses as they surely burnt holes into her training suit. None of it, though, could ever make any difference to the experience. Flying is one of the greatest privileges Fareeha had ever been granted. It is something that few people could ever understand on the same level.

                Below, Lucio’s jaw was practically on the floor as he watched the wings unfold before his eyes. Beside him, Hana laughed. “I _told_ you they were sick!” As Fareeha elevated herself higher, she mentally noted the girl’s abilities: _Future vision. Be unpredictable._ The duo shared a look again before Lucio unexpectedly took off at an inconceivable speed. She watched the blur of a boy zoom around the room, bracing herself for any more sudden movements from her opponents.

                Then it dawned on her what was about to happen.

                Lucio made his way onto a wall, hopping onto it with such speed and that allowed him to run along it; after his fifth wall turn he reached his desired height, bending his knees and leaping in Fareeha’s direction. She began to move—

                “ _Left!_ ” Hana shouted.

                As she swerved left, so did Lucio. With the swift movement of his hand, demonstrating yet another of his abilities, vibration waves pulsed past her body and sent her flying backwards. She was able to stop herself before slamming into the nearest wall by the force of her wings, watching the male land successfully on the ground. Hana gave him a high five, commending their team work. It didn’t take long for him to do it again, launching himself in her direction. Each movement she made was called out seconds before she was even able to perform them, finding herself overcome every single time. _Unpredictable. Be unpredictable,_ Fareeha reminded herself, shaking off the adrenaline pumping through her veins. _You didn’t come here to lose, Fareeha._

                The duo stood together, planning out their next methods of attack. They were both becoming exhausted, that much was clear: beads of sweat rolled down Lucio’s forehead, and Hana’s face remained in a frown as she’d already strained her powers too much. _This is my chance,_ she decided, propelling down in their direction with as much strength as her wings could generate, hot sparks flying out in her path. The two were both prepared and quickly ran out of the way, but she followed in suit of the much slower and vulnerable Hana. It was unexpected, revealed by the fear in her voice as she shrieked for Lucio. Almost immediately, he came running from behind.

                Fareeha smirked.

                A single blow. She swung her fist with as much force as she could in his direction, finding its destination on the side of his face. Hit square in the jaw, he stumbled back and landed on the floor with a shout of pain and a _thump_. The sound of a buzzer signaled the end of their combat and her evaluation, much to Lucio and Hana’s appreciation. Fareeha allowed her wings to fade and made her way over to the boy on the floor, extending a hand for him to hopefully accept.

                “Talk about packing a powerful punch,” he joked, taking her hand and using it to lift himself up. To Fareeha’s surprise, he was smiling just as he had upon entering. “You did great. Not many people know how to deal with Hana and I’s powers combined.”

                The door opened, grabbing their attention as Jack stepped into the training room. His face showed no emotion, though it never truly did. A long time ago maybe, but he was no longer that person. He took a few steps towards Fareeha, hands behind his back in a professional manner. She stood straight, the posture of a destined soldier.

                “Alright. You can fight with Overwatch,” he said, exhaling deeply. Something went off in Fareeha’s chest resembling fireworks. “But you need to train. Find someone willing to train you every day and choose a codename. Then you’ll officially be in Overwatch.” She nodded acceptingly and with one last glance from him, he made his exit. Lucio and Hana congratulated her, catching her off guard with a friendly group hug. Hana retracted from it, pretending to have a hand burn from her fire-spewing back.

                Fareeha left the training room with a sense of pride she’d never had before. Suddenly her old, ancient dreams of being a part of Overwatch were rekindled, this time sparking a new flame within her. One day, there _will_ be peace in the world among mutants. She would make sure of it, no matter what gets in her—

                “I must say I’m very impressed,” a feminine voice chimed, surprising Fareeha in the middle of her thoughts. She whipped around, facing the source.

                Oh.

                Oh, wow.

                A woman stood before her, virtually proving that angels actually exist. She smiled at the Egyptian, displaying small hints of wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. Her blonde hair was tied behind her head and her blue eyes were such a sharp contrast against her pale skin that it nearly made Fareeha speechless. The white coat around her body most likely implied ties to the medical field. “Your hand-to-hand combat is very refined, and the pyrokinetic wing manifestation is something else entirely,” she continued with a light-hearted chuckle that she covered with her hand.

                “Thank you,” she managed to say, holding out her hand. “Fareeha Amari.”

                “Angela Ziegler.” The blonde accepted the handshake, smiling in a way that made Fareeha’s heart thump harder than usual. “ _Scheisse_. I would love to talk more, but I’m afraid I have a meeting to get to. It was a pleasure meeting you, Fareeha.” She quickly made her way down the hall and around the corner, the sound of her heels fading away and leaving the new Overwatch agent behind in silence.

                Fareeha exhaled a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding. Collecting herself, she headed off to find the showers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friend Nicolette for proof reading all of these! I appreciate it a lot. The chapters will definitely get longer from this point on. Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated.


	3. Shadows and Spiders

**20 YEARS AGO**

 

                “Mama, catch!”

                A young Fareeha Amari held up a cheaply-made, plastic frisbee that glowed in the sunlight. She didn’t hesitate, throwing it with as much force as her arms could muster in the direction of her waiting mother. Ana grinned, catching it with ease and expertise. It was a sunny day at the park and, for once, she was free to spend time with her daughter. Many other families clearly had the same idea; the sound of children’s laughter and parents shouting filled the air.

                “Are you ready, Fareeha? I’m going to throw it back!” Ana yelled, rolling up her sleeves to meet her elbows. The girl nodded in anticipation, the gold beads in her braids clinking as she did. They both took their stances. Unfortunately, she’d overestimated her own strength upon acting and underestimated the impact a breeze would have on the throw. The disc glided up to a height in the sky that would surely be impossible for the twelve year old to reach.

                But Fareeha caught it.

                Behind her, fluttering wings of fire kept her in the air with a bright smile on her face. She appeared to be thoroughly proud of herself as she held the frisbee in the air like a trophy— it was an amazing sight, but fear struck through Ana’s body. “Mama, look at what I can do! Isn’t it cool?” She spun in the air, giggling to herself. The glares of other families bore into them, going unnoticed by the giddy young girl with flaming wings. It wasn’t until a father of two shouted an insult at them that Fareeha lowered herself to the ground, a confused expression replacing her excitement. More comments followed, all of which very similar in nature:

                _“This isn’t a park for mutants! Go home!”_

_“You’re both disgusting!”_

                They continued to add more, prompting Ana to grab her daughter’s hand and hurry her to their car in the parking lot. Fareeha continued to ask questions (“ _Why were they saying those things?_ ”) that Ana refused to answer until they were home. It was obvious by the concerned look on her mother’s face that something was seriously wrong, and it could be her own fault. The drive home was quiet except for the low radio volume. Finally, when they arrived at their small apartment, Ana had to do something no parent should have to do. For the first time, she explained to her daughter that the world didn’t appreciate their kind. The world looked down on them with scorn and distaste, and a select, cruel few even wanted them dead.

                Fareeha lost some faith in the world that day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**PRESENT DAY**

 

                Another Talon bomb has been dropped on Hollywood, California.

                Though the degree of its destruction is lesser compared to the Kings Row bombing, it is the first time Talon has made an attack in North America. The United States is in an uproar as the mutant populations have begun to riot in protest of these attacks, hoping that maybe something will finally be done about them. The media only uses this to fuel their arguments against mutants. Overwatch is starting to scramble.

                “We’ve had a plan in the works, but it can’t wait any longer. I’m assigning the best of you to go on our next mission,” Jack Morrison announced to a large crowd of agents. “It’ll be dangerous, but I’m sure you’ll all be prepared.” His mouth took the shape of a frown, though it almost always seemed to be that way. Everyone in the lobby stared at him dejectedly while he spoke. The attacks had a big impact on them; if it wasn’t just the seriousness of it all, many of them also lost friends and family over time. Fareeha stood in the very back against a wall, listening intently while processing the things their leader said. He began to read off a list of names, all of which chosen to participate in the upcoming mission. A good handful were unfamiliar, but “Winston, Lena and Angela” rang a bell. Her name wasn’t called, for an understandable reason most likely, but there’s no way she’d accept sitting around for the rest of the day.

                “We’ll be leaving in the next hour. I’ll brief you on our way there,” Jack finished, before walking away to his office. Everyone disbanded from the room while sharing discussions over the recent events. Fareeha followed him down the hall, knocking on his door and letting herself in upon receiving permission. He said nothing as she shut it behind her.

                She hesitated for a moment, wondering just how much further she could push Jack before he evidently snaps— whatever his limit is, she hasn’t reached it yet. Why stop now? “Allow me to go on the mission,” Fareeha said, straightening out her posture. The soldier opened his mouth to protest, but she cut in. “I would like to prove myself in battle and do something good for the world. That’s why I joined Overwatch. I don’t want to sit around while more innocent people are killed, Jack.”

                “And why should I continue to let you walk all over me?” He growled, placing a forceful hand on his desk. On it were stacks of papers with Talon data plastered all over, along with small coffee stains that hinted to late nights of exhausted analyzing. The clock on the wall ticked loudly.

                She paused and looked at him, thinking, and inhaled deeply. “Because you feel like you owe it to me for my mother’s death.”

                A quiet moment passed by. Jack froze and stared at her, then down at the floor as he contemplated the statement. His hand tensed on top of his papers until he sighed, sitting down in his worn out desk chair. Picking up a pen, he fiddled with it between his fingers even though his tone was vexed. “Leave and suit up for the mission. Go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

                The aircraft’s door slowly opened, touching the ground and instantly becoming a ramp to let the Overwatch agents onto it. Their squad consisted of approximately eighteen people, all of which considered the best in the organization. Everyone boarded one by one, Fareeha being the last, and took seats in one of the rows on either side of the ship. With her special Amari luck, the only seat left was beside Angela Ziegler.

                The air inside was cold, but the metal seats and their safety bars were colder. She’d hardly settled in before they began to take off at a speed nothing in the air should ever travel at. No one hardly even flinched, but Fareeha held a tight grip on her seat the entire time. As time went on, she began to look around at the others with her; their names were unknown, but they all had distinctive qualities that allowed her to remember little things about them. There was the impossibly large man who, just the other day was walking through the halls with skin of steel. Today he looked like any other human being, except with whitening hair and a scar where an eye should have been. He spoke loudly of past experiences to the two young agents that had fought with Fareeha for her examination. Beside them were surely two brothers— they looked very alike with the exception of their hair. The quieter one kept his black hair held back in a messy ponytail; the more energetic one had bright green hair that one could spot a mile away. Two agents that caught her eye looked as if they didn’t even belong here. One of them was scrawny while the other was massive with an impressively large stomach, but they were both equally filthy. It was as if they rolled around in soot for hours on end.

                And then there was Angela, the blonde who sat beside her with a small book in her palms. Fareeha made an effort not to stare, and instead tried to focus on the others. Eventually, though, Angela looked up from her reading and started a conversation. “I’m surprised you were able to convince Jack into letting you on this mission,” she smiled. “He’s usually a very strict person.” Fareeha said nothing, nodding in response. “Have you come up with a codename yet?”

                It was something she had dwelled on since Jack first told her that she needed one, but Fareeha hadn’t officially declared one. Of course, she had an idea in mind, but what would the others think of it? “I was considering the name Pharah,” the Egyptian said, ignoring the roar of the aircraft’s engine as it picked up more speed. “I’m not sure yet.”

                “I like it. My name in battle is Mercy,” Angela shook her head. “Cliché for a doctor, isn’t it? I’ve come to love it over time.” Would she be fighting with them today, or would she be there for injuries and emergencies? Fareeha wondered, but didn’t ask. The blonde reached over and patted her darker hand gently. “If you get injured out there, you can come to me at any time. It’s what I’m here for.”

                She nodded, feeling her face turn slightly warmer at the touch. It was then that she noted the large medical kit by Angela’s side with a large red cross on it, along with latex gloves sitting on her lap. It was almost unexpected that she performed things the old fashioned way. Fareeha had assumed that her abilities were healing powers, but is that not the case?

                A familiar female automated voice came from a speaker in the front of the ship that briefly startled her, announcing: “ _You are now arriving in your destination._ ” Their speed decreased as they approached the ground, eventually landing roughly. Winston apologized from the pilot’s seat, blaming a tree that was in his way. The same door that had let them in opened slowly to let them out, revealing that they’d landed in the middle of a grassy field.

                It wasn’t until they all got off that Jack cleared his throat to grab everyone’s attention. “There’s a Talon warehouse a mile away that stocks ammunition and possibly bombs. Our job is to go in there, examine what they have, and dispose of it. Understand?”

                Everyone expressed their comprehension of the mission, and Jack gestured to Winston to begin leading the way. As everyone began to walk, he placed a mask over his face. The red visor over his eyes illuminated.

                The sun beat down on them mercilessly until they neared the building, which appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. A parking lot was beside it, empty except for two trucks that must be used in transporting their artillery. They continued approaching until Jack paused, looking straight ahead. “There are people in there,” he stated, lifting the gun that rested in his arms. His most well-known ability and possibly the most useful is his vision. He can see past walls and has eyesight much sharper than a hawk, allowing him to see an enemy before they even enter the room and take them out without any hesitation.

                “Are we fightin’ ‘em?” A male wearing a cowboy hat questioned, hand positioned atop of the pistol in his old-fashioned pistol.

                Jack continued moving forward. He only responded under his breath: “It’s our only option.”

                There happened to be a side room clear of Talon agents that they decided to sneak into. The double doors leading inside were unattended but locked; it was an issue that could be easily fixed, however choosing how to go about it was difficult. They could either break down the doors, or…

                “Leave this to me!” The man known as Torbjörn shouted, cracking his knuckles in preparation. He stepped in front of the doors, held out his hands, and he concentrated. The agents were quiet, listening to the sound of metal moving around from within. Sometimes he grumbled under his breath possibly over an error or a complication in the lock, but he never said anything to them. _Metal manipulation_ , Fareeha admired, watching the process. Eventually there was a click. Torbjörn turned around to face everyone, hands on his hips. “Piece of cake. You’re all welcome!”

                Winston thanked him as he and Jack were the first to open the doors, and as predicted the room was completely vacant. The two entered carefully ahead of the rest, examining towers of wooden crates when suddenly Hana jumped into the doorway. She screamed, “Wait! Don’t—”

                Jack took one more step before stopping to face her. An ear piercing alarm began blaring throughout the warehouse, and almost immediately entrances from every angle of the room flew open with a _bang_ as Talon agents flooded inside. Their guns were all raised and it wasn’t long until bullets flew past them.

                “Damn it,” Jack cursed, firing his gun as a cue for the Overwatch agents to spring into action. Reinhardt (he’d introduced himself and the others on their way here) converted his body into pure steel right before Fareeha’s very eyes, charging into a crowd of enemies with a roar-like battle cry. The unfortunate men caught in that strike were crushed and smashed into a concrete wall, unable to withstand his strength. Lena, or “Tracer,” zoomed around the room, firing her pistols at agents and then rewinding her own time to appear in a previous location. Manipulating time was a dangerous concept, but Lena had somehow learned to master her own methods.

                Bringing out her wings, Fareeha soared in the air, startling a few people from both sides. Torbjörn tossed a gun in her direction for her to use; she wanted to question the blood splatters on the magazine, but there was no time for chatting when bullets threatened to take her life. In the midst of her firing, she watched the brothers Genji and Hanzo Shimada launch themselves into the battle without a second thought. It seemed absurd until she realized that they were actually changing, transforming at a rate that her eyes could hardly keep up with. Within a matter of seconds the two human brothers were no longer present, both of them now in the form of enormous Japanese dragons. Fareeha nearly had a heart attack, witnessing the beasts fly around each other in precise movements. Talon agents screamed and attempted to flee the room, but typically found themselves cornered by another member of Overwatch.

                The encounter seemed to be going well for them until a louder gunshot rang throughout the room, a bullet lodging itself in Winston’s chest. He insisted that he was fine, but Reinhardt assured him that he was to be taken to Mercy immediately. Lena pointed out a sniper on the upper level balcony as the said perpetrator ran into another room.

                “Leave him to me,” Fareeha shouted, knowing that she was one of the very few people capable of catching up with the sniper in time. She flew directly to the room, which turned out to be a long corridor, spotting the Talon sniper escape into another room. Instinctively, she chased him inside.

                Awaiting her arrival were several armed Talon agents. More crates filled the room, likely stocked with guns of every kind. All of them were dressed in black, a universal dress code for members of their organization. Fareeha frowned, unsure of what to do in a situation like this; they had her cornered and outnumbered. One of the men removed his mask and looked around at his peers in a way that made her uneasy.

                “Looks like we caught one, boys. And just our luck, we got one of the _winged_ freaks,” he sneered, tucking the mask under his arm. Fareeha didn’t flinch as he progressed towards her, his boots thumping against the floor obnoxiously. “What should we do with you, birdie? As much as I’d love to kill you right here, we could use you for a great deal of information…”

                The man continued to speak of threats and intimidating remarks, but something else caught the Egyptian’s eye other than his words. A shadow emerged from behind a crate and drifted across the floor, free moving and attached to nothing at all. No one else seemed to notice its presence except for Fareeha, who kept her eye on its behavior. She’d never seen anything like it: sliding fluidly through the feet of agents as nothing but an obscure figure of darkness. It continued to shift around until it came to a halt behind the rambling Talon leader who continued to look at her with disgust. He opened his mouth to add something else, but his comment was never spoken as the shadow rose from the ground, taking the form of a human being and jolting a knife straight into his back.

                Fareeha ducked behind a box as the other Talon members began firing their guns at the unknown mutant, now allowing her to see more clearly. It was a man dressed in black and details of red, along with a baggy hood slung over his head. A mask resembling some sort of skull covered his face, muffling whatever noises and words escaped his mouth. Bullets passed straight through his body and punctured the plastered walls behind him instead. He laughed in a wicked manner, pulling out two guns and firing them mercilessly. Blood splattered everywhere, decorating the floor and wooden crates. Enemies dropped one by one with screams of horror and pain, while her possible savior found joy in the massacre.

                Unable to watch these men get slaughtered and fearing for her own life, Fareeha darted out of the room and down the nearest flight of stairs. She didn’t care where it lead her, as long as it was away from that room. Away from the murderous shadow. Whatever warehouse room she ended up in at the bottom of the stairs, there was hardly any light at all. It must have been some kind of abandoned basement, because there were cobwebs, or spider webs, in every nook and cranny. The sound of water dripping from pipes echoed around, and Fareeha could smell nothing but mold. Gunshots continued distantly. She took a step forward to find her way out and felt a crunch beneath her foot. Looking down, she realized that she’d accidentally stepped on a large spider.

                “Please try to watch where you’re walking, chérie…” a woman’s voice drawled in a French accent, followed by the clicks of footsteps in heels. The source stepped out into the dim lighting from her spot in the dark shadows, revealing herself as a tall female with pale blue skin. Her long hair, tied back in a high ponytail, bobbed as she moved closer. “ _Mes araignées_ are very precious.”

                Fareeha jumped backwards, raising her fists in defense. Her wings flickered and provided just a bit more lighting. “Who are you? Are you a part of Talon?” She interrogated, sweat running down the side of her face.

                The woman laughed so politely it didn’t sound real. Her skin-tight attire was mostly shades of purple, contrasting the previous enemies’ black gear. Shaking her head, she pulled a device off of her black belt and replied, “ _Non_ , not Talon. We are not here for you, but I advise that you stay out of our way.” She exchanged an eerie smile with Fareeha before launching the device, a grappling hook, into the darkness and swinging away stealthily. A horde of spiders seemed to follow her movements into the shadows, crawling around crates and nearly making Fareeha gag. She wanted to follow the cryptic woman and demand much more information— starting with what she meant by “we”— but the sound of battle had ended and she knew she had to find her colleagues. Sighing, she let her wings dissipate and dropped her fists.

                Not far away, the bright red, illuminated letters of the word EXIT grabbed the Egyptian’s attention. She ran and pushed the heavy doors open, immediately feeling the fresh breeze of the outside world. Much to her relief, the smell of death and a moldy basement no longer flooded her poor nostrils.

                “Fareeha!” A cheerful voice shouted, clearly belonging to Tracer as she dashed over and threw herself into Fareeha’s arms. The rest of the Overwatch agents had gathered outside, all sharing the same expressions of exhaustion on their faces. Lena cried dramatically into her shoulder. “I was lookin’ for you, love! We thought you were dead!”

                “Let her go, Lena,” Jack said, walking up behind her. The British girl listened reluctantly, sniffling as she returned to the others. Fareeha wasn’t quite sure of what she had to say to him. “Are you alright, kid?”

                She considered the question for a moment, staring down at her hands. Everything was fine, really, but the two mysterious figures bothered her more than anything. Whispering, Fareeha explained, “There was a man and a woman, both mutants. They weren’t Talon. They couldn’t have been. The man wore a skull mask, but he had power over shadows, and the woman had blue skin—”

                “Shadows?” Jack interrupted, and Fareeha noticed that his eyebrows scrunched together above his mask. She nodded once, opening her mouth to continue her descriptions, but he abruptly took a step back. “Let’s head back to the airship,” he called out to the group, and everyone began to take slow steps. Hanzo was giving his tired brother a piggyback ride despite his annoyed grumbling. Reinhardt carried the much smaller agents Lucio and Hana over his shoulders. Before joining the others, Jack awkwardly looked to Fareeha and added, “Good work. Get some rest tonight, Amari.”

 

                As they all walked away, she couldn’t help but feel as if someone was watching them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mes araignées (French)- my spiders
> 
> Hey guys! Thanks for all of the positive feedback you've given so far. I spent a lot of time on this chapter, so I hope you all enjoy it. Shout out to my friend Nicolette again for proofreading my writing. From here on out there's gonna be way more fighting, drama, and definitely a lot more gay (including WidowTracer coming soon, I promise). Thanks again!


	4. Memories

         Mornings have become routine for Fareeha Amari. Her alarm goes off at exactly 5:30 AM, signaling the start of her busy day. She gets out of bed no matter how tired her body may be, washes up, and gets dressed for her typical morning run. She jogs around the expanse of the Overwatch building until her legs ache and convince her to take a well-deserved break. The showers call out to her and she goes, preparing herself for the days ahead of her.

         Most days, Fareeha is alone. Occasionally she’ll encounter an agent or two in the showers, to which she’ll greet them and have small talks about previous or future missions. Never do they delve into personal topics, but nonetheless she gets to learn more about her various colleagues. A young woman she’d come to know as Mei frequently awoke at similar times, conducting scientific experiments and other complex activities. They spoke in passing or during breakfast, often about their conflicting abilities of ice and fire, and a new friendship developed between them. It wasn’t long until one morning, Mei introduced her to someone else.

         The Egyptian had been walking towards an exit, putting in her earbuds in preparation for her morning jog when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. A large woman with electric pink hair stood behind her. Fareeha recognized her from the warehouse mission a few days prior. Glancing over, she realized that Mei was there too, smiling up at the both of them.

         “Fareeha Amari, yes? I have heard much about you! Very strong. Wings are very intimidating,” the Russian exclaimed. The hand motions she made with every motion highlighted her sizable biceps. Fareeha couldn’t help but look at the woman’s muscles: ‘Impressive’ was an understatement.

         “This is Aleksandra Zaryanova,” Mei stepped in, needlessly motioning to the conspicuous woman. A certain, subtle fondness was in Mei’s eyes as she spoke about the Russian. “Zarya wanted to meet you! I hope you do not mind me bringing her now.” Zarya nodded her head in agreement with a wide grin plastered on her face.

         Fareeha shook her head, granting them a small, friendly smile in return. “No, this is fine. It’s nice to meet you,” she said, holding her hand out for a polite handshake. As Zarya took her hand firmly, Fareeha vaguely remembered her lifting people into the air without any use of those extraordinary muscles. Gravity manipulation no doubt; she made a mental note to never get on her bad side. “You’re very skilled in combat, Zarya. I could learn from you.”

         The woman brightened at the statement, patting her on the back with excitement. “Perhaps you and I may train right now? I am available!” Mei’s eyes widened in a similar manner of eagerness, clasping her hands together as she looked over at Fareeha. The two stared and waited for a response, and Fareeha couldn’t quite bring herself to deny them the request. Having someone to spar with was an excellent idea regardless, and it would help prepare her for future missions. Putting her blue and gold earbuds back into the pocket of her pants, she agreed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The sound of ripping velcro filled the air as the two women slipped on their training gloves. They stood on either side of a red floor mat that seemed to be frequently used, judging by the various rips in the material. Weights and dumbbells were lined up on racks along the walls, creating a phenomenal training room atmosphere. Before they had arrived, the only one present in the room had been Lúcio, who left upon learning of their plans to spar. (His exact words were: “I better get outta here then. I ain’t dying today!”) Mei sat on a bench, swinging her legs freely as her feet couldn’t quite reach the ground, keeping a safe distance from the brawl to come. Zarya mumbled things in Russian as the gloves didn’t fit her hands as well as she would’ve liked, but managed to get them on anyway.

         “We go until we can take no more, yes?” She asked, stretching her arms over her chest. To anyone else, this would have been an intimidating situation— but Fareeha was confident in herself. If nerves took the best of her, her performance would be poor and uncoordinated. A few years ago, she would have been jokingly throwing punches at a punching bag that belonged to her mother. This is _Overwatch_ now, though, and she knew she always had to be at her peak.

         Nodding once, Fareeha took a fighting stance; feet distanced perfectly, knees bent just so, and eyes as hard as steel. Zarya smirked in response as she did the same, clearly possessing more experience in this sort of thing. Mei smiled on her bench and threw a hand up in the air, shouting: “Ready?”

         Receiving no voiced objections, she dropped her hand swiftly. “Go!”

         The two agents stood their ground rather than jumping straight into it. Fareeha knew that her most valuable asset would be speed as opposed to Zarya’s brute strength, but she had to be careful with her movements. One wrong move and she could be sent to the ground in an instant. Time to think was cut short when the Russian charged forward with determination, surprisingly light on her feet.

         She didn’t budge, bracing herself for impact. A fist came at her, and she caught it as easily as a baseball player catching a ball in their mitt. Zarya laughed in delight before sending her knee into Fareeha’s abdomen, a force strong enough to send her stumbling backwards. With the wind knocked out of her, she did her best to regain concentration as more blows came her way. A left hook. She jumped to the right, arms raising in defense. A leg came up for a kick and she blocked it with her forearm.

         While her defense tactics were effective, it wasn’t where she wanted to be. She needed to be offensive, and fast, before Zarya began to pick up on her patterns. Fareeha waited for her to jab with her right fist, and did not disappoint when it came. Dodging the punch carefully, she grabbed the other woman’s arm and pulled her forward with all of her strength, crashing their heads together in a devastating head-butt.

         Zarya seemed hardly disgruntled by the action, but was thrown off nonetheless. This was the opportunity to turn things around. Fareeha advanced, fists flying through the air with confident precision. All punches were blocked or avoided, but that didn’t stop her. A kick to the side. Blocked. A left hook to the face. Dodged.

_There_ , finally, Fareeha saw an opening in her opponent’s defense. She swung her fist with force directly at Zarya’s face, setting up a hit strong enough to end this entire training session. Her hand never met flesh, unfortunately, as Zarya instinctively ducked under the punch and avoided it successfully. Instead, her fist drove straight into the wall that she hadn’t realized they’d gotten so close to, breaking into it and sending bits of drywall flying around them. A slew of Arabic curses slipped from her mouth as she retracted her arm, comprehending what had happened. She’d gone straight through to the metal stud. Blood fell from her wrist where the wall had scraped despite her gloves. Moving her hand only resulted in aches from her knuckles and pain shooting throughout her arm.

         “Perhaps you should go see the doctor, yeah?” Zarya suggested, stepping closer to attempt looking at the injury. She planted her hands on her hips as she shook her head. With a smile, she added, “It is a shame. I am looking forward to a rematch, Amari.”

         Fareeha nodded, holding her wrist with her good hand and pulling off the training glove. The doctor… Angela Ziegler, no doubt. A sudden wave of nervousness flooded her stomach, threatening to send her rolling to the bathroom. _Come on, Fareeha. This shouldn’t be difficult. You just fought Zaryanova. Surely you can talk to the doctor._

         Mei and Zarya shouted kind get-well wishes and waved goodbye as she turned to leave the training room and towards the med bay.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Come in!” Angela shouted from inside of her office. Fareeha slowly pushed the door open with her shoulder, since her non-injured hand was busy cradling the other. Her heart was practically pounding in the confines of her chest as she stepped into the well-kept room. It was chilly from the air conditioner that was perched in the window on full blast, and the traditional, clinically white walls nearly blinded her. In a concerned manner, Angela stood from her desk and took off her flimsy reading glasses. “Ah, Fareeha. What happened?”

         “I was… training, with Zarya. We were sparring and my hand went into a wall,” Fareeha explained, and immediately felt like an idiot. Her cheeks heated up in embarrassment, but the doctor made no comments about the cause of the injury. She instructed her to sit down on the examination table and wait for her to get the correct supplies.

         “Fighting Zaryanova, hm? You were practically asking to be injured,” Angela joked, returning with a case of bandages and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. It was almost surprising that she used such old-fashioned methods of patching people up. Her smile was a wonderful sight, and Fareeha wondered if she knew just how stunning she actually was. It took a moment before she realized that she’d been staring, and by the time she pulled her eyes away the doctor was already slightly blushing. “It’s quite shocking that the only injury you have is not from Zarya herself.”

         The rubbing alcohol’s stinging effect made Fareeha flinch, but Angela had a tight grip on her hand to keep her from moving too much. “You have lovely hands,” the blonde commented, closing the cap on the bottle carefully. Fareeha’s cheeks began to burn.

         They were silent for a moment as she reached for the bandages, but a question suddenly began to pester the Egyptian. It almost seemed unusual to ask— mostly because of the negative connotations that came with asking it anywhere else. But this is the main building of Overwatch. “Are you a mutant too?” Fareeha questioned, looking down as her hand was being wrapped.

         Angela chuckled lightheartedly. “Of course I am. This is Overwatch, everyone here is a mutant.” She was gentle in applying the bandage, taking her time to do it correctly.

         It was an obvious answer, yes, but Fareeha was still curious. Why was it that she’d never seen the medic use anything involving special abilities? Even in helping others she used medical tools and skilled practices that she must’ve spent years learning. “I’m still getting used to it all. I went from hiding my wings to using them for fighting Talon and protecting my people,” she spoke, though mostly to herself. “It’s amazing that everyone here is doing the same.”

         She winced as pale fingers continued to wrap a bandage around her injured knuckles. “We are all still unique, however,” Angela responded, eyes flickering up briefly to meet Fareeha’s. “Jack can see through walls and prefers violent methods over peace. I don’t have any such ridiculous abilities to aid me in combat even if I _wished_ to participate…” She sighed, shaking her head exasperatedly. A few high-pitched notification bells from her desktop signalled that she’d received new emails.

         “Do your abilities help you perform surgery then?” Fareeha asked, thinking back to the way the medic had stayed out of the battle in the Talon warehouse; she set up her supplies in case of an emergency, and took immediate action when Winston had been struck by a sniper’s bullet. To some people, she might even be considered a miracle worker.

         There was hesitation, though. Angela didn’t answer right away, and instead froze in her bandaging. She recovered after some questionable seconds, opening her mouth to respond, but there was a knock at the door.

         “Who is it?” She shouted, turning to the door. The man known as Jesse McCree, memorable for his unusual style and cowboy hat, sauntered through the entrance. Yes, quite literally _through_ it; he was born with the ability to walk through inanimate objects and walls. Most people seem to complain about it due to privacy issues, but it typically fades as they begin to trust him. Fareeha can’t really blame them. He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly greeting to the both of them.

         “Hey darlin’, old man says he wants to talk to you,” McCree said to Angela, referring to Jack by his age. The soldier didn’t like being called anything other than his name, and Jesse new that very well. Only a fool would expect him to actually care. “It sounds important.”

         Angela finished bandaging Fareeha’s injured hand and closed her medical kit. As she removed her latex gloves, she said, “I should get going then. Fareeha, I recommend that you take some ibuprofen when you return to your quarters. You will be in a bit of pain for a couple of days. If you need anything else, don’t be afraid to stop by and see me again.” Her blue eyes shined as she smiled and waved, walking past McCree and giving him a pat on the arm as she did. The room was quiet once more except for the small jingle of the cowboy’s belt as he shifted in place.

         “You’re Ana’s kid, ain’t you?” He asked, somewhat awkward in his delivery. Fareeha was caught a little off guard by the inquiry, but nodded anyway. Jesse’s fingers tapped idly on his belt. “She was one of the darn best soldiers I’ve ever seen. I bet she’d be proud to see you fightin’ with us.”

         Fareeha didn’t know what to say. It was rare that anyone brought up her mother like this, and even when they did she did her best to avoid talking about her in-depth. They were clearly words with good intentions, but Fareeha knew that he was wrong. Ana never would have approved of her joining Overwatch. It wasn’t the kind of life that she wanted for her daughter.

         “Thank you” was all she could respond with.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Angela’s hands shook and trembled, nearly dropping the files between her fingers. “What do you _mean_ she saw Gabriel?” Her voice cracked fearfully with every other word that fell from her mouth. “I thought… I thought he was—”

         “Dead. We know,” Jack sighed. “We all thought so too. He’s apparently picked up some kind of mutation, specifically involving shadows.” A picture, more of a screenshot, from the warehouse surveillance cameras appeared on the bright monitor. It showed a shadow in the form of a man, walking through the halls and shooting those in his path. Winston chewed on a banana loudly, though most likely out of anxiousness. Jack glanced at the screen briefly and then back to the blonde. “The good news is he didn’t attack us, but he had somebody else with him. We don’t know what he’s after.”

         The medic couldn’t look at the picture for longer than two seconds. She turned away from the both of them, stepping towards the door with urgency. The manila envelope in her palms had the name GABRIEL REYES written across it in black sharpie, a name that brought nothing but mixed emotions to her heart. He had been a good man, once, but then…

         “…I’d like to avoid participating in any future missions for the time being. I hope you’ll understand,” Angela stated, swallowing when she found that her throat had gone dry. This could be a potentially dangerous request. She is and always has been Overwatch’s most important field medic— but what good is she if she ends up _dead_?

         Angela exited the room before Jack or Winston could say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for all of the feedback. Chapter 5 is gonna be a real wild ride, so enjoy this chapter centered on the gay. As always, shout out to all of the people who help me proof read my writing and improve it!


	5. When The Sun Rises

                It’s the sound of a man screaming that jerks her awake from her sleep.

                Angela is in a cold sweat, surrounded in the darkness that is her sleeping quarters. A digital clock displays the time of 4:51AM, and it’s evident that there is no actual screaming going on. Heat flows through the vents overhead; the weather of early fall is beginning to kick in at full force, but it does nothing to help the wreck of a doctor in her bed. _It was only a nightmare,_ she tells herself, but she knows that it was more than that. It was a distant memory, from years ago.

                From when Gabriel Reyes was still a part of Overwatch.

                It was his screams echoing through her head, never leaving her alone in even the latest of nights. She begged them to stop, but they never listened. The feelings of fear and regret are so real, no matter how long ago it occurred, and knowing that he’s still alive— _Gabriel_ is still alive…

                Unable to go back to sleep, Angela slid out from under her light sheets and forced herself out of bed. Nothing was going to be accomplished by just sitting here miserably and dwelling in horrible memories. The floor was cold against her feet, but she found her slippers and pulled on a white robe from its hook on the wall. A walk would be very beneficial. It’d let her get away, if only for a little while.

                The corridors were dim at this time of the night, yet it hardly ever bothered her. Very few others were awake at these hours: Jesse often got home around this time, returning from late night bar adventures, and occasionally Zenyatta meditated out in the rising sunlight. As she walked through the quiet hallways, Angela found herself feeling uneasy once again. Was she being watched? Or was this simply paranoia? She couldn’t tell, and instead held the robe around her body even tighter. She approached the kitchen, hoping to find an empty, quiet room where she could prepare a cup of tea and relax her nerves. Instead, Angela was startled to find the now familiar figure of Fareeha Amari standing by the stove.

                “Good morning,” Angela greeted softly, a smile gracing her features as the woman nearly spilled boiling hot water all over the counter. Fareeha turned around, clearly just as surprised as she was.

                “Good morning, Doctor Ziegler,” the Egyptian responded, placing the pot in her hand down to avoid any more possible incidents. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I’m usually the only one up this early in the morning.” She turned back around to turn off the stove and moved over to one of the wall mounted cupboards. Judging by the box on the counter, they both had the same idea and came here to make tea.

                Sighing and sitting down at the table centered in the room, Angela shook her head. “I was unable to sleep— and when I did, it wasn’t for very long. I came here for some tea, but it seems you’ve beaten me to it.” She rested her chin on one of her palms, examining her colleague from afar. Fareeha appeared to still be in her pajamas, or the closest such thing as she could get: a pair of black shorts and a loose tank top that sported the logo of a sports team Angela couldn’t recognize. It also took her a moment to remember that she shouldn’t be staring so blatantly like this, and tried to glance elsewhere.

                “Well, I’m sure I have enough here to make two cups,” Fareeha said, pulling two ceramic mugs out from one of the cupboard shelves. “I hope you don’t mind green. I couldn’t find anything else in here.” She flashed a shy smile at the doctor before grabbing the box of teabags and placing one in each cup.

                “Green tea sounds wonderful, actually. Thank you,” Angela replied, watching steam rise to the ceiling as the other woman poured water into the mugs. Fareeha brought them over then, placing one in front of Angela and pulling a chair out for herself to be seated as well. The clock ticked up on the wall, striking 5:04AM and the very break of dawn. A brief silence fell over them as they waited for the beverages to cool down.

                Fareeha picked up her mug, blowing at the steam impatiently. “Is something on your mind?” She ended up asking finally, hints of concern in her expression. It was cute, really, and Angela couldn’t help but notice the way her eyebrows scrunched together as she spoke. Regardless, she wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to Fareeha’s question; the answer is obviously yes, but there are some things that are better left unsaid.

                “Yes,” Angela started, pausing to glance down at the mug of tea between her palms, “…Old memories have been bothering me lately. Someone I once knew… I thought he was gone, and it was entirely my fault. But somehow— he’s _alive_ , and I…” She swallowed, fighting back tears that threatened to reveal themselves. It wasn’t until Fareeha reached over and gently placed her own hand over Angela’s that she looked up from the table.

                “I’ve had my fair share of issues with old memories here as well,” Fareeha explained. Her voice was so smooth and relaxing, and Angela found herself listening intently to every word. “Jesse mentioned my mother the other day after you left. He said she’d be proud of me, but I know this was the last thing she ever wanted me to do. I’m here, even though she wanted me to have a different kind of life…” She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment and taking her first sip of tea. Rays of orange sunlight were beginning to pour in from the windows. With a small smirk, she added softly, “However, talking about it actually seems to be quite helpful.” Angela nodded in agreement, and this time a comfortable silence fell over them as they drank.

                When the clock hit 5:30, Angela stood and emitted a yawn, much to her own surprise. Hoping for the chance of finally getting sleep, she placed her empty mug in the sink and headed for the door. She stopped just short of exiting to turn towards her company, smiling as she said, “We should do this again sometime, Fareeha.”

                Fareeha returned the smile bashfully and took a sip from her mug. “Yes, I would like that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Jack called an emergency meeting later that morning, summoning everyone in Overwatch to Winston’s computer room.

                “We’ve received inside details on a planned assassination tonight in Numbani. Mutant and activist Professor Albert Gardner will be giving a speech outside of a well-known hotel at 9:00PM. Security is going to be tight, but Talon is going to get around it,” he announced, pointing to a screen displaying photos of the location. A portrait of a middle-aged man with thinning hair and round glasses popped up in the middle of them. “If we lose the professor, they’re only going to plan more assassinations. We need to stop Talon before they can even get started, understand?”

                Winston chimed in from the side. “Not to mention Professor Gardner’s publications are essential in arguing for mutant rights. If we lose him, we lose one of our best activists and leaders.” The room was completely silent as everyone attempted to comprehend the weight of this mission.

                “Everyone on this mission must be discreet and watchful. That being said,” Jack inhaled, pulling out a small list from his jacket, “Pharah, Tracer, Lucio, Mei, Symmetra, and Zenyatta. Suit up and be ready within the hour. I’ll be giving the rest of you assignments later today. Dismissed.”

                The crowd of Overwatch agents murmured as everyone exited, discussing the information given by Jack. Fareeha had been surprised to hear her codename on the list of agents chosen in the first place. She made eye contact with Lucio as she walked into the hallway, to which he gave an excited thumbs up before taking off. The woman known as Symmetra—you could only call her Satya if you were close enough with her— raised her eyebrow as they passed each other. They’d never truly spoken to each other, but there was a mild sense of mutual respect between them.

                Fareeha returned to her quarters and went directly to her closet, opening it and staring at the contents. There, hanging in the center, was a custom made suit specifically for her. Winston had put in a work order for it a week or so ago, and it’d finally been completed yesterday. It was a royal shade of blue with hints of gold details around the joints and edges; the material was fairly tight around her body but loose enough to be comfortable; more importantly, the entire thing was fireproof so it wouldn’t burn upon unleashing her wings during battle. Over her heart in white and orange was the Overwatch symbol. Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt pride swell in her chest.

                The hour flew by quickly and the chosen squad for the mission was ready to be transported. Jack stood outside of the building by the airship awaiting its passengers, making sure everyone knew what to do on the upcoming mission. It was clear that everyone was nervous, but their objective was clear: save the professor, stop the Talon agents, and bring them back for investigation. Under no circumstance will they be killing anyone out there, even if they are affiliated with Talon. With that, the agents began to board.

                As Fareeha walked towards the aircraft’s entrance, she felt a careful hand grab her arm. She turned only to find Angela standing there, her face unusually full of worry. “Be careful out there,” she said, immediately releasing her light grip on the Egyptian and retracting her hand as red started to flush her cheeks.

                Fareeha nodded once, a silent promise, and proceeded to board the ship.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                “Ha! Bingo!” Tracer shouted, slamming her hand of playing cards onto the cold steel floor of the aircraft. She flexed dramatically, celebrating some kind of self-proclaimed victory.

                Lúcio frowned, throwing his cards up in the air. “For the last time, Tracer, we ain’t playin’ Bingo! This is Go Fish!” A giggle from Mei only made him frown even more, shaking his head.

                “Yeah, yeah, whatever, love, I still beat ’cha fair ‘n square!” The Brit laughed, planting her hands on her hips. Fareeha watched them play their card games from afar, not wishing to get involved but finding amusement in their activities. It was astonishing how they could be so relaxed before such a crucial mission, but she supposed that was just their personalities.

                “Actually,” Zenyatta’s soothing voice interrupted, holding up his index finger while a grin formed on his face. “If I recall correctly, you replaced cards from the deck with some of your own. I am not sure if that counts as being fair, Tracer.” Everyone looked at the brunette, who froze awkwardly after being exposed.

                Tracer scoffed then, huffing and crossing her arms. With frustration in her voice, she mumbled, “Bloody telepathy…”

                The ship jerked as it started taking a slower speed, meaning they were getting closer to their destination. Mei began to gather up their playing cards and shuffled them, asking what game the others wanted to play next. Symmetra sat on her own, legs crossed elegantly, examining a map of the city and highlighting ideal locations to teleport to in case of emergencies. On it were also their designated posts, marked with small red circles. They were going to be equally spaced out around the vicinity, all keeping an eye out for suspicious activity.

                “I want Zen on my team!” Lúcio said, picking up his hand of cards. The other two women immediately began to protest, which evolved into an argument over who would be given the privilege of partnering up with the telepathic player.

                Before they could actually decide, Athena’s voice sounded through the speaker system:

_Now arriving in Numbani._

 

 

* * *

 

 

                “I haven’t seen a bloody thing up here, love!” Tracer shouted into her communicator, pouting as she sat on the edge of a rooftop. Truly, she’d hoped for much more action on this mission, but it’s been as boring as Winston explaining the science behind his latest gadgets! The cool night breeze made her shiver just slightly, and she pulled her bomber jacket closer to her body.

                “If you see anything, notify us immediately. You’re the only one on the rooftops,” Fareeha reminded her through the static of their private channel. Tracer glanced at her scratched up wristwatch; five minutes left until the speech begins. Nobody could see anything out of the ordinary yet, and the group was beginning to fear the worst. What if they can’t find Talon in time?

                “Aye aye,” Tracer replied, swinging her legs. She clicked her communicator off, beginning to hum the tune of one of her favorite songs while she waited. Humming turned into singing, and singing turned into belting out the lyrics to the night sky. She stood up, dancing around the rooftop and reenacting the old music video she’d watched online just the other day. Maybe this mission wasn’t too bad, after all. “ _So it’s gonna be forever, or it’s gonna go down in_ —”

                Suddenly, Tracer stopped, did she just see movement on one of the other roofs? She hid behind an air vent immediately, peeking out from behind it and scolding herself. _Shit! Shouldn’t’ve gotten so into that, Lena! What were you thinking?_ It took a few seconds, but eventually she spotted a figure sneaking around from rooftop to rooftop with an extremely obvious sniper gun in their hand. Gotcha. “Suspicious movement on one of the apartment buildings! I’m gonna investigate,” she whispered into her communicator, to which she received approval from her teammates. With their confirmation, she bolted to catch up with the suspect.

                “Hey, you! Not very subtle, are ya?” Tracer shouted, landing just behind the sniper with a cocky smirk on her face. Only up close did she realize that the subject in question was a woman, and a very… attractive one at that. The sniper turned around, seemingly unfazed by the surprise encounter, swinging her long, neat ponytail over her shoulder.

                “I have no reason to hide, chérie,” the woman responded, her words accompanied by a smooth French accent. Tracer gulped, looking up at her due to their significant height difference. A spider slowly crawled along the woman’s shoulder, and she noticed that a few more were loitering around the rooftop. It was enough to make her cringe. “But what exactly did you hope to achieve by approaching me?”

                Tracer looked down at her watch, reading 9:03. The professor had begun speaking already and was standing behind his podium, out in the open; the good news, however, was that he hadn’t been killed yet. “I’m here to stop ya from assassinating the old teacher guy down there! We know all about what Talon’s been planning!” Tracer said, whipping out her pistols with one swift movement and aiming them at the sniper.

                Instead of eliciting fear, the woman laughed. It was an eerie, condescending laugh that almost made Tracer uncomfortable, but it was pleasant nonetheless. Maybe it was the way her beautiful lips curled along with the sound. _Snap out of it, Lena._ “I am not here to assassinate the professor, foolish girl. I am here to kill the man in that fourth story window.” She pointed, and Tracer’s head whipped around to look.

                Behold, a man suited in all black opened the glass window in front of him, setting up his intricate sniper rifle aimed directly at the hotel. By the look of it, he was absolutely a member of Talon. “The sniper is on the fourth floor of the big office building, west of the hotel!” She yelled to her squad through the communicator, silently hoping that they still had a chance.

                Pharah’s urgent voice came through: “Lúcio and I are the closest. We’re on our way.” Their response was relieving, but Tracer still felt a pit of anxiousness in her stomach as she watched the Talon agent load his gun.

                “You and your friends must stay out of my way,” the Frenchwoman commented, reminding Lena of her presence. The sniper had raised her weapon, concentrating on her target with her finger slowly meeting the trigger. A few more seconds and she might’ve actually fired, taking the man’s life without any hesitation, but Tracer leaped forward and swatted the rifle down before anything could happen.

                “I can’t let you kill this guy! I don’t know why you wanna, but even if he’s evil and a member of Talon, you can’t just _murder_ ‘im,” Tracer frowned, doing her best to look intimidating as she glared into the other woman’s piercing golden eyes. _A mutant_ , she realized silently, which did nothing but fuel her confusion; she only had so much time to stare, though, until the butt of a sniper rifle was swung directly at her head. Tracer blinked away just in time, but she was extremely offended by the attack, shouting, “Whose side are you _on_ , love?!”

                The sniper smiled, and it was then that even more spiders began to crawl onto the rooftop from every angle, surrounding the two entirely as their numbers grew. Tracer tried her best not to puke on the spot, and, seriously, that took _a lot_ of effort. The words of her good friend Winston rang in her mind from a conversation they’d had a few months ago; he’d explained the appearances of a woman known to manipulate “arachnids” (a fancy word for spiders, or something), and that she’d been spotted all over the world in cases of assassinations. The media had begun to call her “The Widowmaker,” but her true identity was a well-kept secret. Overwatch had been trying to watch her movements, considering her a “dangerous threat” to everyone.

                And… here she is.

                Oh, hell.

                “I am on my own side, chérie,” Widowmaker answered, instantly lifting her rifle and pulling the trigger to release a merciless hail of bullets.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Pharah unleashed her wings, soaring into the air as she approached the large office building. Most of the lights inside were off, since most employees had gone home for the day, but a few rooms on the fourth floor were illuminated. A poor move on the sniper’s part, as he stood out and was hardly even paying enough attention to notice the approaching Overwatch agent. The flaming wings weren’t hard to miss though, and as she flew towards the window he began to panic, grabbing the window and hoping to slam it shut in time.

                It was hopeless, and in one movement Fareeha was able to land a kick that bashed the sole of her boot into the man’s face, sending him stumbling backwards with a yelp. She squeezed in through the window, accidentally knocking over a desk lamp in the process. The Talon sniper managed to save his balance, recovering enough to dash forward and attempt swinging his fist and her. Training with Zarya had prepared her more than enough for this; she ducked and dodged the hit, in turn driving her own fist into his head. He collapsed quickly, unconscious, landing on the floor with a _thump_.

                The office room’s door swung open abruptly. “What’d I miss?” Lúcio asked, panting as he wiped a droplet of sweat from his forehead. He knelt down next to the man on the floor, shaking his head. “Not all of us can fly, you know. But hey, you didn’t need me anyway! Poor guy.”

                “Let’s get him back to the rendezvous point. We should get out of here before Talon figures out what happened,” Fareeha said, bending down so that they could lift him up together and carry him out. Lúcio nodded, taking the man’s other side. Something felt off, though— she sensed another presence in the room with them, as if someone was watching them, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

                A recognizably wicked sound of laughter approached from behind and Fareeha immediately pieced the puzzle together. She didn’t hesitate in standing up and raising her fists in defense, turning around to meet the masked face of the mutant she’d seen during the first mission. He almost appeared to be translucent for a moment, rising from the ground and cracking his knuckles ominously as the dramatic laugh came to an end.

                “You again. Who are you and why are you here?” Pharah demanded, holding her ground. She stared at the mask that resembled a skull, wondering what kind of man was behind it. Is he evil, or simply corrupted? The sniper on the floor made some sort of noise, stirring just slightly and drawing all attention to him.

                “Out of my way,” the man spoke from behind his mask, pulling out shotguns from holsters on either side of his thighs, “I have a job to do.” The tone of his voice was hostile, and Fareeha couldn’t help but feel uneasy as fear crept up on her. Is this where she dies? No— he didn’t take her life last time (he actually _saved_ it), so why would he do so now? And if he’s not after them, then…

                He fired his gun at the unconscious sniper, absolutely aiming for the kill; it would’ve been a dead shot as planned if it weren’t for Lúcio, who used his speed to jump in front, taking a bullet to his left shoulder. The Overwatch agent stumbled, grasping at his shoulder where blood began to pour out of the gunshot wound. Fareeha, refusing to let the action go in vain, took the opportunity to grab the man by his forearms and pushed them to redirect his shots; the stray bullets struck some of the ceiling lights, sending broken glass across the room. They left holes in the walls and the desk, paperwork flying in the air. The man struggled, elbowing Pharah in the gut repeatedly to get her to let go. She knew better than to release her grip, holding on with as much strength as she could until he ran out of ammunition.

                Now completely ticked off, Fareeha’s opponent forcefully kicked her into the wall, knocking the wind out of her lungs for one dreadful moment. She lurched forward as soon as she could, trying to stop the enemy before he could do anything else; to her dismay he was much faster, pulling out another shotgun exactly like the others and fired it at the Talon agent. Pharah stopped, letting the gunshot ring in her ears. It was a shot to the head. There was no chance to save the sniper.

                Just like that, he’d won.

                The man cackled evilly, fading into the night. As he disappeared, he spoke into his communicator and announced: “It’s done.”

                Fareeha glanced around at the disaster of a room, and then to Lúcio on the floor. Running over to him, she activated her earpiece to alert the others. “…Symmetra, call Winston and tell him we need immediate extraction. Lúcio is injured,” she breathed, sitting her friend up and pressing her available hand to the shoulder wound. Lúcio hissed in pain, but closed his eyes to try calming himself down. It wasn’t a fatal injury, luckily, and he’d surely live through it to see another day. The professor would live on as well, making it a successful mission. _Then why does it still feel like a defeat?_

                The room had gone completely silent, the window curtains fluttering with a quiet breeze, and the dead body of a Talon sniper staining the office’s carpet with blood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                “Is that all you’ve got?” Tracer taunted, dashing around the roof and carefully dodging the masses of spiders eerily crawling after them as they jumped from building to building. She fired relentlessly at the sniper, missing a majority of her shots as they continued to keep a quick pace. Even though the situation was dire and extremely dangerous, she was having a great time. “Really, love, I expected more!”

                Widowmaker simply frowned and reloaded the magazine on her rifle, unwilling to dignify any of the Brit’s mocking comments with a response. How could she have not hit the annoying girl yet? A sniper wasting so many bullets on one foolish target— it’s disgraceful. Her mutant speed proved to be a challenge, one she’d never been faced with before, and a part of her actually enjoyed this game they were playing. Widow smiled as one of her bullets just barely missed Tracer’s head. Just a bit closer.

_“It’s done.”_

                The haunting voice interrupted Widowmaker’s concentration, reminding her that they had been sent here on a mission. “Understood,” she replied, lowering her weapon and pulling out her grappling hook. Tracer halted, staring as her chest heaved with much needed breaths. With a smirk, the sniper wiggled her fingers as a farewell and said, “Adieu, chérie, until we meet again.” The hook shot out, grabbing onto a distant building and she swung away into the night. The spiders slowly disappeared soon after, leaving Tracer alone on the roof.

                She collapsed onto her knees, not having enough energy to follow the mysterious woman.

                They were all going to be exhausted tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a long, dramatic, action and romance filled chapter for you guys. Sorry for the wait! Juggling college with writing is extremely hard. Thank you guys for all of the support so far :) Any and all suggestions are always welcome!


	6. Past and the Future

**SOMEWHERE UNKNOWN**

 

                “It seems we continue to run into some… interesting company,” Widowmaker said, polishing her beloved sniper rifle with a thin purple rag. She crossed her legs in her seat, eyeing Reaper as he paced around the room repeatedly. It was dainty and hardly furnished, with only a few rusty foldout chairs and a wooden table; the lights on the ceiling were obnoxiously bright, causing her to constantly squint. They’d returned to their headquarters only an hour ago, and the man was still irritated by all of the hassle he’d gone through in the office building. It was quite humorous to her, though.

                Reaper growled, stopping to face her as he said, “They’re getting on my nerves.” His fists clenched by his sides, and for a moment she thought he might punch the wall out of uncontrollable aggression. Instead, he went back to his pacing back and forth. His long black coat flowed behind him, like some sort of movie villain.

                Widowmaker laughed. It was her typical, mysterious laugh that made you question why exactly she was laughing in the first place. She placed her rag aside, lifting her rifle and looking through the scope to practice her techniques. “Let them do their jobs. If they get in our way again, _I_ will take care of them.”

                The lights in the room flickered for a moment, and the sniper stood. “I believe that’s our cue,” she added, gesturing to the door. Reaper did not respond, only going over and swinging it open with a _bang_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                It was an optimistic day in the Overwatch Headquarters for everyone except Fareeha Amari and her squad.

                People spoke of the success and how great it was that Professor Gardner had survived the attempted assassination, all thanks to the group of agents. They were now being called “heroes,” though they didn’t entirely feel like it.

                “You did what you could. The good thing is that you managed to save the professor’s life. So, uh… don’t beat yourself up over it. Good work,” Winston commented, shifting the thin glasses on the bridge of his nose. They were invited to his office to discuss what had happened on the mission, but it was obvious that the gorilla was just trying to comfort them. Not only that, but he was terrible at it.

                They were dismissed soon after, not exactly relieved by Winston’s words. Fareeha had never dealt with the weight of losing someone’s life before— yes, they’d killed people in previous missions, but this was different. The sniper, Talon or not, was not _supposed_ to die. They were supposed to spare him and his life, bringing him back to Overwatch to receive information and hopefully gain an advantage. Everything would have gone smoothly…

                Those two mystery agents were after something different, though. Who are they? And what is it that they actually want? It was a frustrating situation for all of them, and Fareeha could only think of one way to get rid of this burdensome stress: the gym. Zarya was currently unavailable, eliminating the possibility of another spar. Her hand was probably thankful for that. This left her with one remaining option, and that was to use one very unfortunate punching bag.

                After saying goodbye to her colleagues and agreeing to do lunch with Lúcio in a few hours, she made her way to the empty training room. The equipment looked as if it hadn’t been used recently, which was a shame, really. Fareeha couldn’t remember a time in her life where she had access to such high quality things, let alone for free. Small rows of grey lockers were in the front of the room, most of them taken and claimed by different agents who stop by frequently. The very last one was the locker she’d chosen for herself. A simple steel lock hung from it, resembling that of a high schooler’s. It was the only one she could find.

                Not at all to her surprise, her training items were still in there; gloves, an empty water bottle, a towel, and an extra tank top. Taped to the inside of the locker was a tiny, cheap mirror that reflected her weary-looking face. This wasn’t the best she’d ever looked, judging by the bags under her eyes that revealed her significant lack of sleep. Fareeha sighed, grabbing the workout gloves and shutting the locker.

                _This will help,_ she reassured herself, strapping the gloves on and approaching a massive punching bag. It hung from the ceiling by a chain that jingled with the first powerful punch. The soldier’s gloved fist hit the bag with a heavy thud, making it swing backwards. As it swung back to her, she threw more punches, relentless with her strength. Every time her knuckles met the beaten punching bag it was for a different reason; this one was for the sniper’s lost life, another for her lost mother, and one for the man in the mask who somehow seemed familiar.

                Time flew by without her notice. Soon enough, an hour had passed and her arms were aching to stop. Fareeha took a moment to catch her breath, wiping a bead of sweat that was cascading down her face. The workout had relieved her of some of the stress and allowed her to think more clearly, and for that she was thankful. She gathered her belongings and placed them back in her small locker before grabbing a towel and heading for the showers.

                The showers were peacefully quiet. Only one other person was in there, judging by the running water behind another curtain. Fareeha paid no mind to it, hopping into her own stall and letting the hot water soothe her aching muscles. The silence was pleasant.

                …Until she stepped out.

                The Egyptian wrapped herself in her towel and pulled open the curtain, only for her eyes to land on the beautifully _almost_ nude figure of Angela Ziegler. Her long blonde hair was wet and clung to her shoulders. The sound of her flimsy shower shoes slapping the tile floor echoed around them until she abruptly stopped, noticing Fareeha’s presence. Neither of them said a word, frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity.

                Angela inhaled deeply. “Fareeha,” she said, stepping forward as one hand held the white towel to her pale chest. The wind was immediately knocked out of Fareeha’s lungs at the sight, unable to form any words at the time being. As she malfunctioned, Angela placed a gentle hand on one of her own tan cheeks. “You did great on your mission. We are all proud of you.” Her words were soothing, but the warm smile that followed them was the most comforting. Fareeha nodded as a silent thank you, unable to pull her eyes away from the doctor’s bright blue ones. It was like Angela could tell exactly what was bothering her; was it the experience or was she simply easy to read? She wasn’t sure if it even mattered.

It wasn’t until Angela turned and left the room that she could breathe again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                It was lunchtime, and Lúcio had unfortunately been called off on a last minute music gig.

                Instead of what she’d had planned, Fareeha sat in the kitchen next to Tracer as they ate some sandwiches that they prepared themselves. She wasn’t usually much of a talker during meals, but Tracer spoke enough for the both of them.

                “So, what do you think about those, uh… _people_?” Lena whispered, despite the fact that her volume was still at a high enough level to defeat the entire purpose of it. She was leaned over, close to Fareeha’s face as she chewed her sandwich. It was an uncomfortable situation.

                “What?” Fareeha blinked, looking at the girl sitting next to her. What on earth was she talking about this time? Why was she whispering? They were the only two people in the room. Most of the agents were out doing their own thing or on a smaller mission from Jack. Their squad wasn’t set to go out on a mission for a few days, and for that she was thankful. The stress was overbearing, and that official Overwatch suit was somewhat irritating to wear so often.

                Lena made a vague hand gesture with her hand that wasn’t holding the sandwich. “You know, the two that keep crashin’ our missions!” She took a gigantic bite and continued to speak with her mouth full, as elegant as ever. “The creepy guy and the sniper! I’m not sure if I trust ‘em yet. Shadow Man kinda freaks me out, and I wasn’t expecting Widowmaker to be so bloody gorgeous...” Lena plopped the remains of her sandwich back down on her plate, which consisted mostly of the crust.

                Fareeha paused in her eating, turning to look at her colleague. _Gorgeous?_ If anything, the two were both pretty unsettling in their own different ways. Lena stared back at her, a long moment going by until her cheeks began to turn beet red. “What?” She questioned, crossing her arms defiantly.

                “I didn’t know you had a thing for enemies,” Fareeha replied, a tiny smirk forming on her face.

                “Wha… I-I do not!” Lena was practically shouting out of embarrassment, realizing what she’d said to cause this. “I was just saying that she’s attractive. Besides, don’t act like _you_ don’t have a thing for the doc!”

                It took a second to process as she accusingly pointed a finger in the Egyptian’s face. Nearly choking on her food, Fareeha felt her heart begin to race. Was it that obvious? How many people knew? Does Angela know? Thoughts became jumbled as anxiety flooded her brain, but a few words managed to stumble out. “I don’t… How did you…?”

                “Oh, please. Any time you look at her it’s impossible to get your jaw off the ground!” Lena laughed, amused by the soldier’s reaction, and displaying the small pieces of lettuce stuck between her teeth. Fareeha wasn’t sure how to respond, looking down at the half-eaten sandwich on her plate as her face burned from embarrassment. “Don’t worry, love. I don’t think she knows. Besides, I think you’ve got a shot with her!”

                When Lena finally stopped talking, Fareeha felt a strange chill run through her body. It felt as if someone was watching, just for a brief moment. She shook her head, pushing back her massive mess of emotions. The kitchen chair screeched against the floor as she stood up, brushing crumbs off of her pants. “I’m going to speak to Angela,” she decided, ignoring how Tracer perked up at the idea.

                “Good luck!” The other woman teased, leaning back in her seat and giving a playful wink. Fareeha couldn’t help but laugh softly at Lena’s playful support, picking up her plate to wash it off in the sink.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Angela pushed a loose strand of her blonde hair back behind her ear as she read a new file that rested in her hand. It was essentially a pile of boring information she already knew about various agents of Overwatch and some of their recent injuries. Her unoccupied hand fiddled with a ring full of keys, fingers locating the specific one for the medical bay. Blue eyes didn’t even glance up as she unlocked the door before her, stepping inside and letting it slowly slam shut. The doctor reached for the light switch, flicking it on and letting the office become illuminated.

                “Hello, Doctor Ziegler,” a hauntingly familiar voice said, sending an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. Angela looked up only to find a shadow lurking in front of her desk.  The paperwork in her shaky palms slipped and papers scattered throughout the floor. The man laughed, taking a human form surrounded by a heavy cloak of darkness. “It’s been a _long_ time.”

                She could feel her body freeze in place, horror taking over and flooding her senses. “Gabriel…” she gasped, ignoring how her mouth went dry almost immediately, “…Why are you here?”

                The room was terrifyingly silent as Gabriel stepped forward, his boots making no sound as they hit the polished wooden floor. The mask covering his face hid any hints of emotion that she could have searched for, leaving him as cryptic as always— and leaving her vulnerable. “I wanted to thank you, doctor. You did help me, after all,” he explained, stopping only a few feet away from where she stood. The eye slits carved into his skull mask were full of nothing but void, yet Angela still felt his eyes digging into her skin. His hand clenched by his side as he continued. “After all that you did to me… after all of the pain I went through…”

                She swallowed, feeling her heart pound forcefully against her chest.

                “You didn’t think I’d just… forget to repay you for that, did you?” Gabriel growled, his head tilting just slightly in a menacing manner that made her feel like prey about to be devoured. Angela took a single step back, unable to go any further due to the door that she’d mistakenly let close behind her.

                “I told you what you were getting into, Gabriel! It’s not my fault,” she shouted, her voice shaking just a bit towards the end of her words. She was trying to keep her composure, but he could sense her fear. He always could.

                Gabriel cut her off before she could continue speaking, approaching her slowly. “Because of you, this is who I am now, Angela. _You_ made me this monstrosity,” he said, cracking his knuckles with every step. He was so close that she could feel the cold air that surrounded him, the air of near death and a past of torture. Angela knew her hands were shaking uncontrollably, but she still maintained the façade of confidence.

“You made me the Reaper,” he whispered.

There was a knock on the door, startling the doctor and irritating the man before her. After the set of knocks, a voice that could only belong to Fareeha Amari asked from the outside, “Angela? May I come in?”

                Angela glanced between the door and Gabriel, unsure of what to do. It was eerily quiet, until he began to fade into a shadow before her eyes. “I’ll be seeing you again, doctor,” he stated, becoming shrouded in darkness until his figure no longer existed. It was as if he’d never been there, leaving Angela Ziegler in an empty room filled with a bitter coldness.

                She took a moment to inhale deeply, staring at her pale hands and trying to balance her current emotions. A part of her wanted to cry— but there’d be no point in wasting time on that now. The medic turned and opened the door, a falsely calm smile forming on her face as she greeted Fareeha.

                “Is everything alright, Angela?” Fareeha questioned, stepping inside of the office as she spoke. She wore a brown bomber jacket to cover a casual white t-shirt underneath, and under any other circumstances Angela would have complimented the look. The ‘Reaper’ was gone, but it still felt as if he was watching her every move.

                “Yes… yes, I’m fine,” she replied, walking over to her desk quickly and opening one of her cabinets. She pulled out a simple little pistol, ignoring how her hands still trembled, and studied it for a long moment.

                This won’t be leaving her side for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Spatial for proofreading my chapters! Sorry this one took so long, college has been destroying me. Expect a lot of new chapters over the next month while I'm on break! Thanks for all of the feedback so far.


	7. Germany

                The engine roared as the aircraft lifted off of the ground slowly, making the seats inside rumble uncomfortably beneath the Overwatch agents. Fareeha stared across from her at the empty seats, tuning out the mindless chatter coming from Junkrat. Only a few of them had been sent out for this particular mission. In fact, it was only six agents this time, and she’d been surprised to discover her name on that small list of people. Was Jack actually trusting her with these missions based off of her proficiency, or was this all a test? She wasn’t quite sure at this point, but either way she wasn’t planning on failing.

                “Oi, Pharah,” Junkrat shouted, grabbing her attention away from the thoughts that plagued her. “I don’t think we’ve formally met! The name’s Jamison Fawkes, but uh, Junkrat works just fine. And this here is my pal Roadhog!” The agent jabbed his thumb at the large man seated beside him who watched through the holes of his mask. The silence was slightly unsettling compared to Junkrat’s rambunctious nature, but surely the two were to be… somewhat trusted. “Roadie here is a big fan o’ those wings of yours!”

                Fareeha nodded slowly, attempting to come up with words in response. “Thank you,” she said finally, hands fiddling with the seat belt strapped around her waist. It was flimsy and worn out, undoubtedly used for other various agents throughout the years. “What do you two do?”

                “Well, I’m glad you asked!” Junkrat exclaimed with almost sinister laughter, jumping out of his seat with the thud of his grimey shoes on the metal floor. Zarya and Reinhardt watched from the other side of the ship with deeply concerned looks on their faces. Roadhog sighed and stood from his seat, placing a heavy hand on Junkrat’s shoulder just as he was about to display his talents.

                “Not here,” he commented; two short words with his muffled voice.

                The junker rolled his eyes and reluctantly sat back down. “Oh, loosen up, big guy! It wouldn’t’ve been _that_ dangerous.” He was practically pouting at the larger man, but turned to Fareeha in order to give her a helpless shrug. She smiled a little to herself, finding the duo odd but somewhat of a comedic relief in what would otherwise be a tense atmosphere.

                They were currently flying towards Eichenwalde, which had been classified by Jack as a possible new hideout for a branch of Talon. It was important to stop their possible developments, but not critical enough for a full-on raid. That’s why there were so few of them on this aircraft, waiting for a signal from the pilot to prepare for drop off. There was no doubt in her mind that this mission would be executed successfully, but an uneasiness remained in her stomach. If anything, it was most likely due to the small size of their squadron.

                The castle located directly in the center of Eichenwalde was their destination, as Talon’s goal is to make it into a warehouse or base of some sort. Intel had informed Overwatch that it would be vacant for the next two days, and that this would be the ideal time to strike without having to put agents in danger. An hour after that discovery, six agents were being debriefed for this task. Now, they’re sitting on this airship.

                “Germany is such a wonderful place!” Reinhardt boomed, stretching his arms wide as he gave a visual representation of his country’s greatness. A large grin plastered his face with his words, and he glanced over at Fareeha who sat quietly. “Have you ever visited? You will love it, Fareeha! If we stay long enough, I will treat all of you to a meal of our greatest dishes.” Reinhardt’s voice was completely enthusiastic, creating a positive atmosphere. In response to the offer of food, Roadhog grunted in his seat. Junkrat was practically drooling as he imagined it.

                “I’m sure I will enjoy it,” Pharah replied, smiling at the older man. The amount of stories she’d heard about him, the great Reinhardt Willhelm that worked so well alongside her mother. Their duo in battles was practically unstoppable, with his brute force and her deadly aim. She’d always dreamt of a day that she could join them in battle-- but never did she think it would be without her mother. The thought suddenly made her heart sink.

                The aircraft came across a bit of turbulence, and Athena’s voice was suddenly emitted from the speakers: “Now arriving in Eichenwalde.”

                Everyone began gathering their things with a signal from the pilot, and it wasn’t long until the ship was landing smoothly behind an old building. The large metal door slowly descended and created a ramp for the agents to exit. Sunlight poured in, to which Pharah shielded her eyes and carefully stepped on the overgrown patch of grass they’d landed on. She looked around, taking in the ruins of a battle-plagued Eichenwalde. All of the buildings, most of them painted a pale white or grey, were broken down and falling apart. Vines had practically overrun their walls and rooftops that were once a single piece. Now there were large craters in the ceilings and floors, all from the aftermath of a ruthless Talon bomb.

                Ready to go, the Overwatch agents began heading towards the castle in the distance. It was eerily quiet, as even a once optimistic Reinhardt kept his mouth sealed as he looked at the town that’d been destroyed years ago. He’d once called this his home, where mutants lived in peace and had a prospering community of kind people. Fareeha walked past a broken down and rusted turret, trying not to wonder how many lives that one machine alone had taken.

                “I was expecting a, uh… more _livelier_ place,” Junkrat whispered, leaning towards Pharah and Genji so that Reinhardt couldn’t hear. As they walked together, small rocks crunched beneath their feet as remnants of what was once a strong cobblestone pathway. The sun continued to beam down on them as they got closer to the castle, advancing slowly under a bridge. He continued to add, “...You’d think Talon had better taste in choosin’ hideouts.”

                Fareeha opened her mouth to reply when Reinhardt finally spoke up. “We must be careful from this point on,” he directed, erecting his shield as he stared straight ahead at the distant castle doors. From their current spot, it would be a straight shot to the entrance. It was a stone bridge, one that looked relatively safe to cross despite the fact that it hadn’t been walked on in years. A flock of birds flew overhead and over the castle as a light breeze blew past them. The group walked carefully, one step at a time in unison, Genji pulling up his scarf and Junkrat trying his best to hide his excitement. Wind rustled the leaves of nearby trees, creating the only noise besides their precise footsteps.

                Upon reaching the entrance, Reinhardt lowered his shield and looked up at the massive gate of carved wood. Fareeha stood back. She’d never seen a castle in real life before; only seen them in movies or her imagination after reading some kind of fantasy novel in her free time. It was absolutely stunning. If Angela were here, she would agree, wouldn’t she? Perhaps one day when the world is no longer afflicted by war, they could go sightseeing... Uh, as friends, of course. “Is it locked?” Pharah questioned, inspecting the door from afar.

                Reinhardt shook his head and planted his armored hands onto the wooden door, pressing into it and feeling it budge slightly. “This can be opened. Zarya?” He turned to the large Russian woman, implying that he required her help with getting the doors open.

                “Of course, old man. Allow me to help,” she said confidently, a smirk appearing on her face. Their competitiveness over strength never disappears, even on missions. It started long ago, over who knows what-- possibly over an arm wrestling match during a drunk celebration. She didn’t know much about the feud, but together they were unmistakably powerful. Fareeha watched as they both stepped up, inhaling deeply.

                Reinhardt and Zarya pushed the doors with all of their might, and with some luck, they began to open with loud creaks and dust clouds arising from the floor. Some rubble fell from the movement, but soon the doors were open and sunlight shined into the dark castle corridor.

                Waiting for them was a formation of Talon agents, armed and ready to fire.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                The sound of heavy feet coming down the hall caught Jack’s attention, looking up from the files on his desk. There was no doubt that the footsteps belonged to Winston, a monkey who could never be quiet even if he tried. A knock came from the other side of his office door, to which the commander responded with a simple, “Come in.”

                Winston opened the door slowly, peeking in before fully stepping inside. He cleared his throat and lifted a file into the air. The file contained the written debriefing of the current Eichenwalde mission, explaining the objectives and the agents’ individual jobs. With a swift removal of his glasses, Winston shifted a bit closer to Jack’s desk. “Uh, I was doing some research this morning. Specifically on the history of Eichenwalde, actually.” A moment passed as he searched for words. “Well, the town was destroyed 7 years ago, as we all know. And in fact, before it was bombed, the population was nearly all mutants. They were all wiped out in the blast. What’s Talon’s purpose of going back there? Not to mention the castle isn’t exactly suitable for construction and hoarding of weapons…”

                Jack cut him off abruptly. “What are you getting at?” He questioned, sitting up in his chair that squeaked with every movement. 

                “I…” Winston began, switching glances from the folder in his hands to meeting Jack’s eyes. After a moment, he responded: “I think it’s a trap.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

                A bullet zoomed past Pharah’s head and she flew upwards to the ceiling, dodging several other shots from the Talon agents. Reinhardt was charging into them, his steel body gleaming from the rays of sunlight pouring in through the opened doors. Enemies were quickly crushed beneath him and the survivors rapidly shot at him with little success. Some bullets simply ricocheted off of his body, striking other members of Talon who were unfortunately standing in the wrong place. Zarya set up clear targets for him, clumping enemies into one spot so Reinhardt could knock them down like bowling pins. They hadn’t been planning for this ambush, but they were always ready for a fight.

                Fareeha flew towards some snipers in the back, taking them by surprise and kicking them down before they can do any harm to her team. _Jack was fooled. Our intel must have been corrupted,_ she thought to herself, knocking out a sniper with a powerful punch. _Talon knew we’d be coming._ Genji had a similar tactic, confusing enemy lines in the back with his agility before the power of his dragon flowed through his veins began to take over; it was only a matter of seconds before his transformation was completed. The massive dragon form was truly fascinating… if you’re his ally, of course. Otherwise, you’d be one of the Talon agents screaming madly as a green dragon emerged in front of your eyes.

                Another member of Talon was attempting to sneak up behind Junkrat, but Pharah was lucky enough to spot him from above. She flew towards him, fist pulled back and ready to strike him first-- and suddenly the man burst into flames. His painful screams nearly shattered her eardrums as she landed on the old carpet, watching him suffer and collapse to the ground. Completely disconcerted, she turned to meet Junkrat’s gaze and simply found him laughing maniacally. The junker swiftly looked at another agent shooting at Roadhog, threw his hands against his ash-covered ears, squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, and the man was instantly set ablaze.

                “Omnicombustion,” Roadhog stated nearby, a short explanation for Pharah’s internal questions. It did nothing to help her comprehend what she had just witnessed.

                Gunfire from more enemies advancing down a flight of stairs from the upper floor grabbed their attention. Roadhog quickly sprung into action, lifting his mask off to reveal the scarred lower half of his face and jogging to a nearby column. Fareeha didn’t know what to expect from him, but… she surely didn’t expect him to eat it. He bit into the column made of what could only be marble or stone, breaking chunks of it off and swallowing it down as if it was dinner. Bite after bite, the column became shaky and the old ceiling above it trembled. Soon it collapsed with its only support now inside of Roadhog’s stomach, bringing pieces of the ceiling down with it in a giant pile of rubble. Below the rubble was a squad of unprepared Talon agents now dead. They couldn’t run in time.

                Junkrat and Roadhog: a duo that can burn people alive with the blink of an eye and eat any known material in the world. An odd pair, indeed.

                With more teamwork and injuries on both parties, the battle dwindled down until it became a victory for the Overwatch agents. Blood stained the burgundy rug that had been practically torn to pieces by the encounter. Bodies of slain Talon members rested on the ground, or in some cases sat as a pile of dark ashes. It seemed that they were all down for the count, and if few were still alive they must have escaped and ran for their lives. A chandelier was now on the floor, denting the wood with its metal frame. It had taken a few lives along with it.

                As for the agents, there had been no grave injuries. Zarya had a bullet wound or two, but insisted that she’d be fine without immediate medical attention. Genji had some scrapes, as did Roadhog along with some deep cuts. Junkrat, however, only complained about how hungry and exhausted he was from his efforts. Fareeha looked down at herself, noticing only a few grazes from bullets that came a little too close during flight.

                “We are not done yet,” Reinhardt reminded them, catching his breath slowly as he treaded forward through the bloody corridor. They had to continue searching-- there must be some information somewhere in the castle if this was truly meant to become a base. The squad followed Reinhardt past the bodies, into dusty, empty rooms until they reached the very center of the castle. A large hall, full of paintings and decor that must have once been expensive. At the very end sat a throne, still sturdy and elegant despite the war that it must have seen in its lifetime. Throughout the room were Talon belongings, fresh and out of place with the rest of the decorations. They’re definitely new, Pharah noted, as if they’d only been moved in a day or two ago.

                Plans and papers lined the floor along with makeshift desks crafted out of bigger crates and boxes. Weapons were scattered throughout the room, most of them appearing to have been modified or tampered with in some way. The base-- if it could even be called that-- looked messy and disorganized. It was clearly just a temporary spot for the Talon agents to stay and operate, waiting to be deployed somewhere else. Or perhaps, maybe they were planning to create a permanent hideout. Whatever it was, the threat had been diminished today.

                The agents walked around, examining whatever they could find and taking evidence that looked important. Fareeha walked around mountains of blueprints that sat on top of a torn rug, one that had somehow survived all of the violence that occurred here. A laptop was left on a wooden crate, one that was most likely full of various weapons and explosives. She reached over cautiously, gently tapping the laptop’s mouse to awaken it from its hibernation. To her surprise, it turned on and opened to a screen of data and orders that should have been hidden from their eyes. An agent must have foolishly left it running in their rush to ambush the group.

                Some of the files were unable to be opened, requiring passcodes and identification that Pharah couldn’t provide. She’d leave those for other agents who specialized in hacking to take care of. However, a few plans had been left open, allowing her a free pass into viewing what secrets they had to offer. The most elaborate file caught her attention. Her eyes scanned the words that had been written, absorbing what they meant and beginning to process them. “This… This is Talon’s next attack,” she stated, reading from the screen with deep concern written across her face. The others gathered around her, hoping to steal a glance of the highlighted information. Reinhardt leaned the closest, unable to read well without his reading glasses on him.

                “Well? What’s it say?” Junkrat piped up from the back, trying to see over Roadhog’s and Reinhardt’s shoulders. Roadhog moved to the side just a bit, allowing him to step forward and squint at the computer too.

                “It’s a bombing…” Pharah sighed, closing her eyes as she’d already memorized the following words, “...in Cairo, Egypt.”

                Suddenly, this has all become very personal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This new chapter is dedicated to Ao3 user Impromptu_Bagel. Thank you so much for that awesome comment. When I got the email for it, I was super touched and it totally made my day. So this chapter's for you, buddy!
> 
> That aside, thanks to everyone for hanging in there and still reading even though I've been so busy with college! I promise, there are plenty of more chapters to come. (And the next chapter is gonna be very gay. Stay tuned!)


End file.
